Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures

by Lillian Marek

  “Who is it?” Lissandra turned to Pip with a smile. “I know many of my brother’s comrades.”

  “This is no one you would know. He is someone I encountered briefly just after we established the Republic in Rome.” Pietro shrugged. “I had not thought him deeply committed to us, since he managed to drop out of sight long before the end. Armando Landi.”

  Harry spewed out a mouthful of coffee and nearly knocked the table over as he sprang to his feet. Elinor looked at Pietro in horror. More practically, Pip managed to catch the coffee tray before it flew into space.

  Harry advanced on Pietro, seized the young man by his lapels, and snarled, “Where is he? Where can I find him?” Elinor, at Harry’s side, looked no less furious.

  Pietro could scarcely manage to keep his feet as he staggered back, held up by Harry’s grip, but he shook his head. “I do not know,” he finally managed to gasp. “Why? What do you know of Landi?”

  Lissandra was hurrying over to protect her brother from this sudden onslaught, and Elinor was helping Harry try to shake information out of Pietro. Pip had to push all of them apart. “Calm down or we’ll never get anywhere,” he told Harry before turning to Pietro. “This has nothing to do with your politics. If you and your Garibaldini friends are foolish enough to be taken in by him, I don’t see much chance of your surviving, no less creating a unified Italy. Landi is a thief and a brigand, and he tried to kill my sister and Harry.”

  That statement triggered a dramatic flood of verbiage from both Pietro and Lissandra. It took some moments before they were calm enough to hear explanations, by which time Lord and Lady Penworth had arrived for breakfast. This, in turn, required a second round of explanations, frequently interrupted by outbursts from Pietro, calling down imprecations on traitors and proposing outlandish but grisly punishments. Harry kept growling that he just wanted to know where he could get his hands on Landi, and Elinor insisted that she would not allow him to go by himself.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Pip, but no one was listening to him. He went out, and when he returned carrying a pitcher of water, Harry and Pietro were still holding center stage, with Lissandra and Elinor as chorus. Pip tossed the water at the two principals, producing a shocked silence.

  “Well done, Pip,” said Lord Penworth before any of them could recover. He held up a hand and received at least momentary attention. “I realize none of us has any fond feelings for Signor Landi, and I know, Pietro, that you feel deeply his betrayal of both yourself and your cause. However, I would like to inject a note of practicality.”

  Pietro flung out his arms. “Do not fear, my lord. You and your family will be safe from this villain. My comrades and I will wipe him from the face of the earth. It will be as if he had never existed.”

  Lord Penworth closed his eyes briefly and let out a long breath. “I am sure that is very gallant of you, Pietro…”

  “No, no, my lord. You have done so much for me already, and for my family, that I seize this chance to be of service to you.”

  “The hell with that” said Harry, grabbing hold of Pietro’s shirt. “He threatened Norrie. He’s mine.”

  Lord Penworth cleared his throat persistently until the tumult once more subsided enough for them all to listen to him. “Crescenzi, I understand your anger at the betrayal. Landi’s attempt to use you and your colleagues in an effort to escape punishment for his crimes is utterly contemptible. But bear in mind that you are not the only ones who have been betrayed. His Excellency, Prince Savelli, has been most bitterly betrayed as well.”

  Penworth was the veteran of numerous Parliamentary debates and his voice began to soar in rhetorical outrage. “For a man to betray his own family, to steal from his own cousin, a cousin to whom he is indebted for so much kindness…”

  Pietro could not contain himself. “It is beyond comprehension that a man could be so lost to honor.”

  Harry swung around at Crescenzi in exasperation, but Penworth held him back with a tight grip on his shoulder.

  “Landi has betrayed not only your comrades and his own family but the very heritage of his country.” The others looked at Penworth in some confusion, but the marquess continued, in full flight, complete with oratorical gestures. “These antiquities he has stolen belong not only to Savelli, on whose land they were found, but to all of Italy. Nay, to all of mankind.

  “They are of value not simply for their artistry, or for the precious gems and metals they may contain. They tell us of an entire civilization that once flourished here. When antiquities like these are stolen, sold to greedy and ignorant collectors, they are stolen from all mankind, and Italy especially is robbed of her heritage. Private vengeance palls in the face of such perfidy.”

  Harry looked ready to erupt in fury, but Penworth only tightened his grip.

  Pietro looked both impressed by a rhetoric that surpassed his own and confused by its message. “I do not entirely understand, my lord. Are you saying we should let the man escape?”

  “No, no,” said Penworth, sounding practical once again. “But I think we must not act too precipitously. It would be wise to consult with Prince Savelli before determining a course of action. You and your colleagues will be able to keep a watch on Landi, will you not?”

  “Ah, yes, that is wise.” Pietro nodded sagaciously. “We will arrange a hiding place for him and tell him to be patient while we arrange his escape. Then he will keep still while we plan his destruction.”

  “Excellent.” Penworth nodded approvingly as Pietro went off, followed by his sister.

  Pip muttered a soft curse. “That fool is probably planning to use his sister to carry messages again. I can’t allow this.” He hurried after them.

  Lady Penworth raised her brows. “Pip can’t allow this?” She turned to seek an explanation from her daughter, but Elinor and Harry were demanding an explanation from Lord Penworth.

  “You can’t just turn him over to his cousin.” Harry paced furiously, swinging out a fist to punch at the furniture. “The way he spoke to Norrie…what he was going to do to her…” He shook his head, incoherent.

  “I understand how you feel, Harry, but think for a moment.” Lord Penworth put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders once more and gave a small shake. His was once more the voice of common sense. “Stop and think. If we were in England, we could call in the authorities and know that Landi would be tried and hanged for his crimes. But we are in the Papal States. I know nothing of the laws here, of the way the courts operate. Do you?” Harry could say nothing, so Penworth continued, “For all we know, we could be tangled up in legal proceedings for months.”

  “Months!” Elinor looked horrified.

  “Months,” repeated her father, his gaze fixed on Harry. “And who knows what sort of inquisition Elinor could be subjected to. Do you want to risk that?”

  Harry could only shake his head.

  “To say nothing of the difficulty we would have in attempting to explain young Crescenzi’s presence here.”

  Harry sighed in surrender.

  “Therefore, we will have to trust Savelli’s judgment,” Penworth continued inexorably. “And I do not think he is inclined to leniency.”

  Lady Penworth interrupted impatiently. “Well, if that is taken care of, Elinor, will you please tell me what has been happening between Pip and Miss Crescenzi? Am I correct that things have proceeded?”

  “Yes, Mama,” said Elinor with a slight smile. “I think one could say that things have definitely proceeded.”

  “Dear me. I have obviously been spending too much time thinking about your situation and neglected your brother.” Lady Penworth tilted her head and considered. Then she smiled. “I should have known he would choose as well as you did. The brother is a bit foolish, but on the whole I think she will be very good for him. She sees him as a hero, and he needs that. He is too apt to doubt himself.”

  Elinor let out an incredulous snort. “Pip? Doubt himself? My brother, who always knows how everyone should behave?”<
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  Lady Penworth shook her head. “Did you never realize? He fears that he lacks Harry’s courage and his father’s instinctive honor. That is why he sets such high standards of behavior for himself. But unlike his sisters, Miss Crescenzi actually needs his protection. By providing it, and providing it so ably, he has gained the self-assurance he lacked.”

  With that, she swept out, leaving Elinor with her mouth hanging open.

  “Your mother’s perception is frightening,” said Harry.

  Twenty-one

  Following the advice of Mr. Freeborn, Lord Penworth dressed with great formality and paid a call upon the Marchese Crescenzi. The marchese, dressed with equal formality, received him seated in his chair of throne-like appearance and little comfort. Since neither one could speak more than a few words in the language of the other, Mr. Freeborn was also present as an acceptably disinterested translator.

  The opening minutes of the audience—minutes that seemed interminable hours—were devoted to an exchange of florid civilities and compliments. Lord Penworth had attended royal visits and diplomatic presentations that seemed casual in comparison, but Mr. Freeborn had assured him that the marchese would be insulted by any lack of ceremony. Penworth found the room itself almost more oppressive. The marchese must have suffered from the cold because the room was intolerably hot. Penworth could feel the sweat trickling down his neck and felt a moment of sympathy for the two footmen standing by the door. Not only were they garbed in velvet liveries, but they had to wear powdered wigs as well and must have been required to stand in this stifling atmosphere for hours.

  The room itself suffered from a surfeit of things. So many chairs and small tables were crowded into the room that it had been difficult to navigate a route from the door to the marchese. Penworth held himself stiffly in the chair to which he had been waved, a carved and gilded concoction that had creaked alarmingly when he sat. Aside from worries about the likelihood of the chair collapsing were he to move, there was the danger that a careless elbow would knock over the velvet-covered tables topped with bibelots that flanked him. The dim light in the room helped to disguise what was obvious once one neared the objects in the room: All were worn and shabby.

  It was with relief that he received the unspoken indication from Freeborn that they could now move on. The actual business of proposing a marriage between Donna Lissandra of the noble house of Crescenzi and Viscount Rycote, eldest son and heir of the Marquess of Penworth, was accomplished easily enough once it was made clear that all that was expected by way of a dowry was the lady’s own distinguished lineage. Even if Penworth had not deduced the straitened circumstances of the Crescenzi family from the fact that they were renting out part of their palazzo, Freeborn had warned him that young Pietro’s political activities had resulted in the loss of much of the family’s wealth.

  The marchese also received assurances that Donna Lissandra would of course be free to practice her religion, and Viscount Rycote was even prepared to have the marriage ceremony performed by a Roman Catholic priest. The location of the ceremony required a bit of negotiation, however. Although there was much to be said in favor of having the bride married from her own home, and Lady Penworth herself thought that the church of Sant’Agnese in the Piazza Navona was a decidedly attractive venue for a wedding, there was the problem that the English tended to be exceedingly insular. Rycote was heir to a position of considerable importance and his wife would be expected to take her place in English society. This might all be made easier if her first appearance were at a wedding of splendor in London.

  After due consideration, the marchese conceded that a London wedding would make sense. Left unmentioned was the fact that this arrangement relieved the Crescenzis of the considerable cost of a wedding celebrated in a manner fitting to their daughter’s station.

  Also left unmentioned was the obvious fact of the marchese’s ill health. By the time their negotiations had been concluded, the marchese’s face was pallid and pinched with pain, and he seemed to be holding himself erect by a determined act of will that won Penworth’s admiration. When the English lord declared himself honored to ally his family with that of the Italian lord, he meant every word of it. When the Italian lord returned the compliment, it was with equal sincerity.

  Donna Lissandra was then called in, accompanied by her mother and Rycote. Marchese Crescenzi announced to his daughter with great formality that he had arranged a marriage for her. She was admirably demure as she kissed his hand in gratitude and promised to be a dutiful wife to the husband her wise father had chosen for her.

  Rycote then carefully enunciated, in Italian, a speech that Lissandra had drilled into him, in which he expressed gratitude to his father for having chosen such an exemplary bride for him and then vowed to the marchese to honor and protect his daughter always.

  A brief toast sealed the betrothal, and then everyone withdrew to the next room, where an elaborate ceremonial meal awaited, while the marchese retired to his bedchamber.

  *

  Tunbury, wrapped in a dark cloak that made him feel ludicrously melodramatic, stood with Savelli’s men hidden in a barn just outside the walls of the city. Clouds covered the moon, so that even though the barn doors were open, only the faintest light came in. Somewhere a church bell tolled midnight, another melodramatic touch. Inside the barn a canvas-covered wagon loomed like some huge beast. Young Crescenzi paced before it, awaiting the arrival of Landi. The discipline of Savelli’s men could not be faulted. Aside from Crescenzi’s footsteps, nothing broke the silence. Tunbury breathed in the dusty scent of hay and felt an almost overwhelming need to sneeze.

  Finally, new footsteps could be heard outside. Muttered phrases in varying tones suggested that several men approached. Tunbury could feel the men about him stiffen, and his muscles tightened in anticipation as well. Although he had promised not to interfere—his presence was contingent on that promise—he could not stop his hands from clenching into fists. Three shadowy figures appeared in the doorway

  “You will wait in here.” A harsh voice spoke in Italian.

  “You still have not told me who is to meet me, how I am to get away.” That was Landi, his voice a petulant whine.

  “You are in no position to make demands.” A third voice, commanding in tone. “Go inside and wait.”

  Landi stepped slowly into the cavernous gloom, and the other two disappeared back into the night. He halted and peered from side to side.

  “Is that you, Landi? Come in quickly.” Crescenzi stepped out of the shadow of the wagon.

  “Crescenzi? Ah, Pietro, my friend, it is good to see you.” Landi stretched out a hand eagerly.

  Two of Savelli’s men stepped out to seize him by the arms. Two others blocked the door behind him.

  There was a brief scuffle, very brief, punctuated by a few curses. Then Landi was dragged to his feet. He glared about him, and his eyes fastened on Pietro. “Damn you! How could you betray a comrade?”

  “A comrade? You swine. You are a thief who tries to use us to escape punishment for your crimes. I spit on you!” Pietro suited the action to the words.

  Landi began to struggle again, but stilled when a light was struck and a figure carrying a lantern approached. It was Savelli. The light from the lantern made his elongated shadow snake across the floor. As the flame flickered, his stern features appeared demonic.

  The prince came closer, his eyes on Landi, who grew pale and ceased his struggles. “You dare to speak of betrayal? You who betrayed both your comrades and your own family?” Savelli’s voice was cold, his face implacable.

  “I…” Landi’s eyes darted from side to side.

  “Do not even try to find excuses. We all know of your treachery. I took you in for your mother’s sake, because her parents had made a foolish marriage for her. For you, I feel less than nothing.”

  “But for the sake of the family, of your name,” Landi urged. “A trial will bring shame and scandal on your name.”

  Savelli smiled,
as if actually amused. “Whatever makes you think I would permit a public trial? Do you doubt that I can handle by myself one who is a disgrace to the family?” He turned to Tunbury, who had approached during this colloquy. “I assure you, Lord Tunbury, this vermin will be treated as he deserves, and the insult to you and your lady will not go unavenged. Nor, Signor Crescenzi, will the betrayal of you and your friends be ignored. Discretion does not imply leniency. Traitors can never expect mercy.”

  “I do not doubt your justice, Your Excellency.” Tunbury bowed formally, as did Pietro.

  Landi looked at them, his eyes wild. “You are together in setting this trap for me? You will pay, I swear it.”

  Tunbury could not keep the loathing from his face. This creature, twisting like an animal in the hands of his captors, teeth bared like the rat he was, had lost all dignity. He had thought he wanted to deal out Landi’s punishment himself, that he wanted to smash the man for the threats and insults he had offered Norrie. Now, seeing him sweating with fear, he was grateful that Savelli would have his men take care of the swine. He would not have to soil his hands on the disgusting wretch.

  The prince waved a hand in signal to his men, who disappeared into the darkness with Landi. “You will give my thanks to Lord Penworth,” he said to Tunbury, as suavely as if at court. “I only regret that our association was shadowed by the actions of that creature. Perhaps one day we shall all meet again.”

  “I know the marquess shares that hope, as do I. He asked me to express his gratitude to you for taking care of this problem.” Tunbury hoped his own poise approached Savelli’s standard.

  “Problem, yes,” Savelli said softly. “I like that way of putting it.” He turned his head slightly and gave Crescenzi a long look. “Perhaps young men who present a problem for their families would do well to remove themselves from Rome.”

  Pietro stiffened but then gave a wry smile. “That is no doubt excellent advice, Your Excellency.”

  Tunbury had had enough of civility and was relieved when Savelli turned to leave. All he wanted was to get back to Norrie.